


Tie Me Down (Make Me Talk)

by raiining



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alpha Phil, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, First Time, Insecure Clint, Insecure Phil, Knotting, M/M, Omega Clint, Presumed Dead
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-12
Updated: 2013-10-12
Packaged: 2017-12-29 04:48:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1001079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raiining/pseuds/raiining
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The last thing Phil thought he would find when he got home was Clint Barton waiting for him in his bedroom, slick-covered and begging for his knot, quietly furious the entire time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tie Me Down (Make Me Talk)

**Author's Note:**

> HUGE THANKS to the ever fabulous Ralkana, who not only corrected my atrocious grammar, but helped me resolved some plot issues as well. THANK YOU GORGEOUS!!! I really appreciate it.

Phil Coulson smiles as he presses his thumb against the doorknob of his apartment, waiting for the biometric scanners to recognize and let him in. His latest mission with his new team had gone well – surprisingly well, considering the circumstances. This assignment is never going to give him as much pleasure as being a part of Strike Team Delta, but Phil can admit that it has its own unique challenges. 

The lock clicks and Phil steps into his new apartment. His old place was damaged during the attack on New York, and then cleaned out when Nick finalized his ‘death’. He doesn’t spend much time in his new place, not since Nick gave him the Bus, but at least he has somewhere to relax between missions, away from his team. 

Despite his long absences, the apartment is still home, so it takes less than a second to recognize he is not alone. His sidearm is in his hand and leveled at the intruder before Phil can blink and recognize the man standing in the middle of his living room. His dirty blonde hair is disheveled, his fascinating kaleidoscope eyes are furious, and he’s glowering at Phil with an almost palpable fury. Phil resists the urge to shrink back. 

“Barton?”

Phil wants to ask what is going on, but a moment later the sea of pheromones saturating Phil’s apartment hits him like a ton of bricks. He almost staggers under the force of it, reflexively opening his mouth and panting, reveling in the delicious, intoxicating smell of an omega in heat.

And not just any omega – _Clint_.

Phil’s heart rate picks up. He can feel his gaze sharpen as he leans predatorily in towards his old asset. His gun is still in his hand, but Phil doesn’t want to drop it. He wants to order Barton to the floor and fuck him, wants to claim him with a possessiveness that should be startling, but so, _so_ isn’t.

Phil shudders and closes his eyes. He thumbs on the safety of his gun and lays it, very gently, on the table beside his door. He drops his keys beside it, and then lowers his hands to his sides. 

When he reopens his eyes, he half hopes Barton will have disappeared, but the buffet of pheromones filling the air assures him he hasn’t.

“Barton,” Phil asks, struggling to keep his voice level, “what are you doing here?”

Clint glares at him. He’s shaking, Phil realizes, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. Sweat is pooling in the hollow of his throat, soaking through the thin t-shirt he’s wearing. He’s obviously well into his heat, long past the point where most omegas would have lost control of their urges, and probably nearing the danger point of heat exhaustion. 

Phil feels the almost overwhelming desire to go to him. He can rationalize it so easily in his head – Clint _needs_ a knot, it would be for his own good…

Phil shudders and locks his knees. Barton is staring at him – hunger and anger and heat-need all twisted together in his expression. The silence between them lengthens. Phil’s knows he should turn and walk away, should contact S.H.I.E.L.D. and get Clint the help he so obviously needs. He likes to think he’ll be able to that, but before his resolve can be tested, his phone rings.

Still keeping his eyes on Clint, Phil reaches for his cell. “Coulson,” he answers. 

“Tell me Barton is with you,” Fury asks without preamble.

Phil locks eyes with his asset. Barton’s breathing is heavy now, his nostrils flaring as he takes in Phil’s alpha scent, his shoulders shaking as he keeps himself very firmly on the other side of the room. “He’s with me.”

“Oh, thank Christ,” Nick exhales. “He signed your name to the three-eighteen. Take care of him, Phil.”

Phil swallows against the renewed flood of _want_ that surges through him. From the way Barton’s eyes narrow, Phil knows he can smell the change in the air. “Ten four.”

He drops his phone on the table beside his sidearm. His mind is swimming with the idea of the three-eighteen, that Clint made this choice back when he had a clear head and a steady hand. He wants Clint _so badly_ that he’s shaking, but he has enough self-control to wait for permission.

“Clint,” he asks, and raises his chin.

“ _Phil_.” Barton breaks, and it’s like the floodgates have opened. His scent sharpens, intensifies, and he tips his head to one side. 

Phil lunges across the floor and gathers Clint in his arms. He fastens his teeth on the bare skin of Clint’s neck and doesn’t pause until he breaks skin. Clint’s scent is all around him, and Phil inhales it deeply, taking it into his body, making the need in it pulse through his blood.

In Phil’s arms, Clint melts as the last ounce of resistance pours out of him. Phil has to tight his arms around Clint’s waist to hold them both upright. 

“Phil,” he breathes, his voice half begging, half pleading. “ _Phil_.”

Phil wants to tell him that he’s got him, that he’s going to take care of him, but he’s beyond words now. He’s lost in the scent of Clint, the feel of him. Phil breaks off his bite to capture Clint’s mouth with his own, tongue thrusting into his mouth as he chases down every last piece of him.

He’s dragging them back towards the bedroom before he’s consciously decided to move, but when he recognizes where they are, Phil doesn’t hesitate. He attacks Clint’s clothes as if they are a personal insult, which, at the moment, they are. Phil wants to see – _needs_ to see – his omega naked. Needs to taste and touch every inch of him.

Clint arches into his hands like he’s skin-starved. He whimpers and clutches at Phil’s back with wanton neediness. It only makes Phil’s heart race faster.

They’re on the bed and naked before Phil can stop to think about the implications of what they’re doing, of what they’re about to do. He knows he should be asking how Clint found him, what he’s doing in Phil’s apartment. He hasn’t seen Clint once since he came back from the dead, and though he knows Nick informed all Level Seven’s of his resurrected status, neither of his agents had been to visit him. He’s tried not to think about that, but it’s like trying to stop worrying at a scab. The more he picks at it, the more painful it gets.

But now Clint is here, where he should be, in Phil’s apartment and in his bed, and he’s slick with heat and gasping for it. Phil knows he should slow down, should ask the important questions that need to be addressed, but Nick says Clint signed the three-eighteen and that knowledge fills his understanding now. Their legs tangle together and their cocks slide over each other. The sensation makes Phil shudder. He reaches his hand between them and feels Clint’s wet hole, dripping and so ready he can’t help but brace two fingers and shove them inside.

Clint cries out and grinds down, wordlessly pleading for more. Licking and biting at his neck, Phil does everything he can to cover Clint in his scent before giving him another finger. Clint groans and fucks himself on Phil’s fingers. Phil shudders, pulls out his hand, and flips Clint over onto his chest.

Clint scrambles onto his hands and knees, presenting his ass in the air, and Phil bites him once on the spine before lining up and pushing his cock inside. A few deep thrusts and he can already feel himself swelling, his knot growing inside of Clint.

It’s where he’s always wanted to be. Phil groans and slides the last inch forward, wrapping his arms and knees around his omega, dropping kisses onto the back of Clint’s neck near the bruise that’s already blooming there. Beneath him, Clint is gasping and moaning, pushing back against him, seeking some friction of his own.

Phil’s knot finishes swelling and the pressure makes both of them come together, a wave of pleasure and pheromone release, a seismic shift that rocks Phil’s world and tips him forward into oblivion. He’s falling, but he’s clutching at Clint as he goes, holding him close, and never – _ever_ – letting him go.

He comes to several minutes later, lying on his side with his arms wrapped around Clint’s body. His knot is still hard and fully erect, and he’s locked inside of Clint.

His mind is starting to clear, though, as the waves of heat-want dissipate, and Phil starts to realize what he’s just done. He swallows, and something must signal to Clint that things have changed, because he begins to stir in Phil’s arms.

“Wha – ?” he starts, his voice thick with the remains of heat stress and release. “Where – ?”

Phil clears his throat. “You’re with me, Cl – Barton. You’re in my apartment.”

Clint immediately tenses. He moves to pull away, but Phil’s knot is still tying them together. He grunts, and Phil feels a sharp stab of pain. “Stop! Clint – stop. We’re tied. We’re… we’re going to have to wait it out.”

Clint grunts but stops moving. Phil can feel his shudders as his body cramps, muscles reflexively milking out every last drop of Phil’s come. Phil can feel the waves of fluid spurting between them, but Clint’s obvious pain is making the normally pleasurable sensation anything but.

“Relax,” he tries to soothe, rubbing a hand over Clint’s arm. “Just relax. It’ll be over soon.”

“Easy for you to say,” Clint growls, his body still tight and tense.

Phil, staring at the hard line of Clint’s back turned resolutely against him and realizing that they have fifteen or twenty minutes of this, can’t help but sigh. “Not really, no.”

Clint’s jaw locks. The anger he leveled at Phil when he first stepped into the apartment is back, and with a vengeance. His scent is sharp and cold, and Phil swallows. Any last, happy feeling he’d been harbouring vanishes. It’s obvious that no matter what Clint had said or signed in the past, he doesn’t want to be here. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry?” Clint says scathingly. He tries to turn further away from Phil but pulls on the knot still linking them and stops with a pained shudder. “That’s rich.”

“I’m – ” Phil starts to say, and then stops. He has absolutely no idea what’s going on here, what he should do. Clint is tight and unhappy, and Phil only wants to make things right. “What are you doing here?”

It must be the wrong question to ask. Clint stops shifting, but his shoulders are tighter than ever.

“Making a mistake,” he finally says.

Phil has no words for that. They lay still and silent beside each other for what feels like an eternity until finally – _finally_ – Phil’s knot relaxes. In an instant, Clint is clear. He’s over on the other side of the bed and then off, pulling on his sweat-drenched clothes and rushing out of Phil’s apartment, slamming the door behind him.

Phil sits up in bed and watches him go, his chest a roiling combination of anger, despair, and regret. It takes him almost ten minutes to crawl out of bed and retrieve his phone.

“Fury,” the director answers, picking up after only one ring.

“What the hell happened, Nick?” Phil asks. He wants to sound angry, but it comes out tired.

“Fuck if I know,” his best friend replies. Phil can hear him sigh and thinks he’s probably in his office on the helicarrier, shifting in his chair. “He hasn’t had a heat since Loki, and the docs picked up a hormonal surge last week. He went over his old paperwork, gave the updated signatures, and then signed himself into medical for the observation period. 

“Why medical?” Phil asks with a frown. “Barton’s always been allowed to pursue his heats independently in the past.”

“He requested it,” Nick tells him. “Said it had been too long since his last heat and that he knew it would be a bad one. Even though he had the paperwork, he said that he didn’t want anyone to knot him, that he wanted chemical control only. The docs didn’t like it, but they agreed – you know how he can be. They had him sequestered and started the infusion, but sometime during the night he broke out. He disabled his tracker, scrambled our sensors, and stole a quinjet. I’ve spent the past several hours looking everywhere for his ass.”

Phil closes his eyes. “So you called me.”

“So I called you,” Nick agrees. “You _are_ listed as his emergency contact, after all, and the alpha he’s requested in case of heat-related emergency as per his three-eighteen.”

“Since when?” Phil demands. “Since when in the history of our working relationship has he _ever_ – ?”

“Three years ago, after Monaco. I have the paperwork sitting in front of me, Phil.”

Phil closes his eyes and breathes. Monaco. Phil remembers the mission perfectly. Monaco had been where everything had seemed to go wrong. They’d already been working together for several years at that point, fully integrated within Strike Team Delta, and Phil was the happiest he’d ever felt in his life. He liked to think that he and Clint had been building towards something, some real connection, maybe. Phil had been gone for the archer from day one, but he’d tried to keep his feelings hidden. He wanted more than to be another notch in Clint’s belt. He wanted _Clint_. 

He’d always been aware that Clint was an omega; it was the kind of thing that was impossible to hide in close quarters, even if Phil hadn’t had the security clearance to know. He’d never let it affect their working relationship, though. Phil liked and trusted omegas – he’d never seen them as obstacles to be overcome in the field, and he had never once addressed Clint’s gender with him. Clint always removed himself from S.H.I.E.L.D. premises for his heats, and Phil had never inquired where he went. Even if he desperately wanted to know, and occasionally drove Nick crazy with his worry, it wasn’t his place.

In Monaco, though, their mission had extended past the expected limit. They were forced to remain hidden and undercover for almost two weeks longer than they had planned. Clint’s heats had always been slightly irregular, but nothing that he hadn’t been able to control. During the mission, though, things had gotten dicey. He had started to slip into the pre-heat phase.

The mission was almost completed and Phil hadn’t known what to do. He felt it important to address the situation. “I just want you to know, Agent Barton – Clint – that what happens next is completely up to you. We can call the mission and return to base. There are other agents who can complete the objective if that becomes necessary. That being said, if you, I mean – if you need me, I want you to know that I’m here for you. Always.”

Clint had tensed when Phil had said that, and Phil had immediately realized that he’d crossed some kind of line. Clint was intensely personal about his heats, but they’d never been an issue before. Phil had been aware that the medication Clint needed to make it through a heat under chemical control was unavailable. He hadn't offered because of his feelings for Clint, but had only acted as he would toward any other omega on his team. “I’m only saying that the offer stands,” Phil had said, trying to backtrack. “I don’t mean to pressure you, or suggest that you’re not competent to finish the mission, or – ”

At that point, it had seemed safer to shut up. Phil had, snapping his jaws together, but the tight, cold shoulder Clint had turned on him signified that the damage was already done. 

“I’m fine, sir,” Clint had said, and that was all. He had completed the mission within the next two days, all without saying more than five words to Phil. When they had returned to base, Clint had been sweat soaked and starting to shake, but he’d held it together long enough to get himself down to medical and discharged into his own care.

Phil had kept his hands clenched inside his jacket pockets the entire time they were in the air, forcing himself not to reach for Clint. He had wanted to comfort, to soothe, and – yes – to bury his knot inside Clint’s warm, seductive scent. He’d kept a lid on his feelings then, though, in a way he hasn’t managed to this afternoon.

Phil closes his eyes and leans forward, resting his ear against his phone. “Fuck.”

“That’s about the size of it,” Nick agrees. “I don’t know why he broke out of medical now to come and find you, Cheese, only that from the security footage we managed to scrape together from whatever he did to the cameras, he wasn’t in a happy place when he did.”

“No, he wasn’t,” Phil agrees. He remembers the furious glare Clint had shot him, the poisonous hatred that had gripped his face before whatever anger he had been feeling dissolved under the weight of his heat-inspired need. “I have no idea what to do next.”

“He left?” Nick guesses. 

“As soon as he could.”

“I got nothing for you,” his best friend sighs. “He’s still early in it. He’s going to need another knot, because there’s no way things have settled out in his system yet, not after nearly a year without a heat. Either he’ll be back or he won’t. I can’t track him for you.”

“I understand,” Phil says. “Do you want me to let you know if he returns?” 

“I’d appreciate it if you would. His running has scared a lot of people around here – brought back some bad memories.”

Phil nods. He hates to think of the distrust Clint has suffered after having been in Loki’s thrall, but he knows that even the best training in the world can’t stop some people from being idiots. “Will do.”

He hangs up and drags himself across his apartment to shower. He’s sore and disappointed in himself, sleepy but itching to move at the same time. He’s still keyed up from Clint’s scent, can feel the race of hormones through his body, telling him to find, to claim, to keep. Phil keeps a tight lid on them and turns on the shower, trying to wash away Clint’s scent. He’s had enough of listening to his base impulses for one day.

He stays in the shower until the hot water starts to run out, and then towels off as slowly as he can. He should have opened the windows the moment Clint left, but he didn’t, and so the scent of an omega in heat hits his system the moment he opens the bathroom door. Phil staggers to the window and throws it wide, then collapses onto the couch as far away from his sweat-soaked bed as he can get.

He’s going to have to launder those sheets before he can sleep tonight.

Despite his promise to Nick, Phil very much doubts that Clint will come back. He knows that angry, hateful look in his eye, he knows what happens when he oversteps his bounds. Clint hasn’t looked at him the same since Monaco.

He dozes for a while on the couch, then gets up to think about dinner. He’s in the kitchen flipping through take-out menus when there’s a loud _thump thump thump_ from the hallway, and then the whirring sound that means his security system is being deactivated again.

He’d put his gun away in his customary hiding place before hopping into the shower, which means it’s behind the couch in the living room and out of reach. He goes for a knife instead, but stops when the apartment door is thrown open and Clint Barton marches back into his apartment.

He looks, if anything, even worse than before. There’s sweat on his brow and a cut on his face. Blood is splattered on his shirt in a way that makes Phil’s heart clench once in his chest, before he realizes that it’s clearly someone else’s. Clint’s eyes are wild as he sweeps the room. When he sees Phil, he lets the door swing shut behind him and stalks over to the kitchen.

His scent fills the small apartment, just as tantalizing as before. “Barton,” Phil tries, dropping the knife back into the drawer as he feels his heart rate pick up.

“I tried to leave,” Clint growls, still stalking closer. “I went to the nearest bar I could find and do you know what I did there? I went up to the biggest, most intimidating alpha I could find, and I practically begged him to fuck me.”

Phil’s hands clench into fists at his sides. He’s glad he let go of the knife, because he doesn’t trust himself with a weapon right now. 

He can _smell_ the other alpha’s pheromones on Clint, too. The proof that what he’s saying isn’t just a story, that he really did try to let another alpha fuck him through his heat. 

“I couldn’t do it,” Clint says, his voice breaking. “I got him down and nearly mounted him and I couldn’t do it. He wasn’t _you_.”

The look in his eye is enough to shatter the distance between them. Phil crosses the last few feet and sweeps Clint into his arms. He’s growling, deep down in his throat. Clint’s nose comes forward and buries itself in Phil’s neck. He shudders.

Phil lets him. He drags Clint to the couch and starts rubbing his hands over every inch of him he can find. His mind is clearer than it was last time, but the hormones are still pulsing through his veins.

“Are you hurt? Did he hurt you? Who is he? I’ll kill him.”

Clint buries his nose in Phil’s chest and huffs out a broken laugh. “He didn’t hurt me. I hurt him. I turned around and nearly broke his arm. I _definitely_ broke his nose.”

Phil just tucks him closer. “Good.”

“No,” Clint protests, face still pressed against Phil’s chest. “Not good. It was a shitty thing to do, and I shouldn’t have turned on him like that. I should have been able to fuck him if I wanted to. I shouldn’t have had to _care_.”

Phil doesn’t know what to say to that. “Tell me what to do,” he begs, hands still wandering over every piece of Clint he can reach, reassuring himself that he is there, that he is whole. “Tell me what to do. I’ll do anything.”

“Take me to bed and knot me,” Clint says slowly, like the words are being drawn out of him, like he’d rather do anything than admit that’s what he needs.

“I can do that,” Phil agrees, burying in his nose in Clint’s hair and breathing in his scent. “There is nothing that I want more.” 

Clint angles his head up and they kiss for long minutes. Eventually, Phil guides Clint to his feet. They stumble back towards the bedroom, where the sheets are still scattered in disarray. 

Phil is more careful stripping Clint of his clothing this time. Not only because Clint’s obviously just been in a fight, but because he has space enough in his head to treasure this. He kisses every patch of skin as it is revealed, sucking and biting when Clint groans, and by the time they tumble back into bed again, they’re both achingly hard.

Clint’s ready for him, heat-slick and begging for it, and when Phil slides in again it’s like coming home. Already the warm, sweet feel of Clint around him is familiar, and Phil can’t help but kiss Clint’s back as he rocks against him, murmuring into his skin.

“Mine, all mine. _Just_ mine. So beautiful. God, Clint. You’re so beautiful. I want you always. Always here.”

Instead of kicking him off and breaking his nose, Clint keens and opens up for him, encouraging Phil to go deeper. By the time Phil’s knot starts to swell, they’re both so close to the edge they’re almost tipping over it. Clint shakes with the force of his orgasm when it hits him, and it doesn’t take long for Phil to follow suit.

He doesn’t pass out this time, but he does lower them gently back onto the bed. He wraps his arms around Clint, and it’s so similar to the position they were in just a few hours ago that Phil has to glance out the bedroom window to convince himself that time has passed.

The heat-sleepiness doesn’t seem to last as long. Clint stirs in his arms and Phil reaches down to rub a hand over his belly, silently encouraging him to relax, to accept Phil’s intrusion. Clint doesn’t shake like he had before, but he does grow slightly more tense in Phil’s arms.

He’s not as withdrawn as the first time, though. Phil keeps rubbing his hand in soothing circles over Clint’s skin. “How do you feel?”

It takes Clint a minute to respond, and without being able to look at his face, Phil can’t tell if its because he’s still angry, or in too much pain to speak. 

“Better,” he finally says, after what feels like an eternity. “It’s always easier the second time.”

Phil nods because he’s heard that, though he also knows that some omegas like the knot all the way through their heats. 

It feels strange to talk this way, into Clint’s back, especially since Phil can see the bite he made on Clint’s neck during their last encounter. He has to know, though. “Why did you leave?”

Clint tenses slightly. “I’m still fucking pissed at you, you know.”

“I do,” Phil admits, still rubbing at Clint’s stomach. “What I don’t know is why.”

“Sure you don’t,” Clint huffs.

“I’m being honest,” Phil says. “I haven’t seen you in months and I don’t know what it was that I – ”

“Exactly,” Clint interrupts him. “I haven’t seen you. In _months_.”

Phil blinks, confused, at Clint’s back. “You’re upset because I didn’t come to visit once I was out of medical?”

“I’m upset because I didn’t fucking know you were _in_ medical!”

“You what? You – ” Phil feels a slowly dawning pit of horror open in his belly. “You thought I was – ?”

“Dead?” Clint snorts, his voice slightly muffled by Phil’s pillow. “Yeah, I thought you were dead.”

Phil feels all the blood drain from his face. “Why? You’re level seven. Nick assured me that – ”

“My security clearance was revoked after the helicarrier attack. I’d been demoted to level three until six weeks ago. Nat would have told me, but she didn’t know either – she was tapped almost immediately for deep cover in Russia to pursue some kind of lead.”

“Six weeks …” Phil trails off. That means that the entire time he’d been in medical, when he’d been silently agonizing over the fact that no one had come to visit him... “Oh, god.”

Clint shifts, just a little, enough that he can look over his shoulder into Phil’s face. He doesn’t look as angry anymore, but there are still deep bruises under his eyes. “You honestly thought I knew?”

“Of course I thought you knew!” Phil says. “S.H.I.E.L.D. should never have revoked your clearance! You were possessed by an alien demi-god, what do they expect?”

“I led the attack on the German consulate and the helicarrier and got seventeen agents killed, including my handler. I know exactly what they expected, and they weren’t wrong.”

“You did _not_ get me killed,” Phil returns hotly. “Not only because I am obviously not dead. Absolutely nothing you did while under Loki’s command was in any way your fault.” 

Clint gives him a tight, insincere smile before flopping back down against the pillows. “Yeah, well. It seems HQ agreed with you, finally.”

Phil realizes his hands have gone still over Clint’s stomach. He resumes stroking again. “Six weeks…” he shakes his head. “No wonder you’re pissed at me.”

“I figured you were, you know, obeying orders or something,” Clint says with a tight, unhappy shrug. “It wasn’t like we were…”

“What?” Phil asks, when he stops.

He can feel Clint swallow, the rise and fall of his chest. “Together. Or anything.”

Phil has to lick his lips. “I know,” he admits. “I thought you…”

It’s Clint’s turn to prompt him when he pauses. “What?”

Phil looks away from Clint’s back, to the window where the moon is slowly rising. “Well, I was in medical for a while. You never came. I figured…”

He can feel the moment Clint tenses, and successfully avoids the glare he shoots over his shoulder. “You figured – what? That I’d just forgotten about you?”

Phil can’t meet his gaze. “Well, like you said, it wasn’t like we were ever…” He darts a glance at Clint, then away again. “Like this. Or anything.”

“You wanted to be?” Clint asks. He has always been the perceptive one.

Phil sighs and drops his head down against Clint’s shoulder. He can feel his knot beginning to loosen. “Yes.”

He knot shrinks enough for Clint to slip free. Phil expects him to leave again, to vault over the bed and reclaim his clothes, but this time he just turns over until he’s facing Phil. His touch is hesitant as he lays a hand on Phil’s upper arm. “You wanted to be,” he repeats, sounding awestruck.

It’s enough to make Phil look up and meet his eyes. “Of course I wanted to be. Christ, Clint. I – for _years_. But there was no way – ”

“What?”

Phil swallows. “There was no way you would have ever wanted that. From me. With me. I knew that.”

“You don’t know anything,” Clint breathes. His eyes are wide and devouring, his hand rubbing small circles into Phil’s shoulder. “You idiot. You don’t – how could you not _know_?”

Phil stares at him. “Know what?”

“That I’m gone on you. One hundred percent completely gone, head over heels, every sick, stupid omega-inspired rom com all rolled up in one.”

Phil knows he has to be dreaming. “You? No. That’s – that’s the heat talking, or something, you can’t – ”

“Don’t you fucking tell me this is my heat,” Clint growls, and for the first time since they knotted, he sounds angry. “I know what I’ve been living with for the past three years, okay? I’m fucking in love with you, you jackass.”

“Three _years_? But that would mean, that would be – ”

“Monaco.”

Phil stares. “I thought you _hated_ me after Monaco.”

Unexpectedly, Clint blushes. “No. I – no. I just… I couldn’t…”

“What?”

Clint takes a deep breath. “I didn’t want to fall in love with you, you know. We had a good thing going, and I’ve ruined enough friendships with casual sex and not-so casual heats to know that I never wanted to do that with you. So when my heat came on in Monaco – god, Phil. I wanted so badly to beg you to take me. I only stopped by convincing myself that you’d never go for it, that there was no way you’d bend S.H.I.E.L.D. regs enough to fuck me through my heat, even if you wanted to.”

Phil feels a sinking sensation in his gut. “It’s not against S.H.I.E.L.D. regs, not in the event of an emergency.”

“I know that now,” Clint admits. “I looked it up when we got back, which is why I filled out the three-eighteen. When I read through the paperwork, though, I realized that you were just being kind. Offering was something you would have done for any agent under your command. It hadn’t meant what I wanted it to mean.”

Phil licks his lips. “And after?”

Clint looks away. “I was embarrassed. I should have gone for it, asked you out to dinner or something, but you had been so good about not making a stink because I was an omega. You let me choose my own perch during ops and you weren’t a self-absorbed dick-bag. I could see you were _trying_ not to treat me any differently after Monaco, but I knew you were holding yourself back. I thought I’d ruined whatever friendship we had going by pushing it into your face that I was an omega.”

“I thought I had really pissed you off,” Phil explains, reaching out to rub a hand along Clint’s hip-bone where it peeks out from under the sheets. “You’re always so private about your heats, and then I go and offer to fuck you and drag the whole thing into the light of day. I thought you were angry at me.”

“I was mostly angry at myself,” Clint admits. “I think this entire alpha-beta-omega biological system we’ve got going is fucked up. I’ve wished for so long that I wouldn’t have to endure this, that I wouldn’t have to go through heats. I wish I could have asked you out to dinner man-to-man, not omega-to-alpha.”

Phil smiles. “Somehow I doubt that changing our biology would make us less fucked up,” he says. “I’m sure we’d find something to get hung up on as a species.”

Clint huffs out a laugh. “Yeah, probably.” He sobers. “I couldn’t do it, though. I figured I should just take what I could get and keep whatever friendship we had left. I still filled out your name on my three-eighteen, though. I had hoped…” He sighs. “And then Strike Team Delta got pulled apart and Natasha got assigned to Stark and we got put on New Mexico and I figured, you know, that I had missed my chance.”

Phil sweeps a hand over Clint’s hip. “Never that.”

“And then,” Clint goes on in a quieter voice, “you died, and I knew it was too late after all.”

Phil can’t help but draw him close. He rests Clint’s head against his chest, over his new, still shiny scar, where he can hear Phil’s heart beating. “Not even then.”

Clint takes a shuddering breath. “As soon as I got my security clearance back, the Director told me about you. I – well, like I said, I thought it meant you never cared. I told Nat, by the way, so expect an angry red-headed Russian when she gets back from whatever Fury’s sent her on.”

Phil knows he should be frightened, but he smiles. “I’m looking forward to seeing her. I’ve missed you both.”

Clint makes a face. “I wouldn’t have believed you, before. I kind of hate your team, by the way. I mean, I haven’t met them, but I’ve heard great things about Melinda May and Ward is an omega and I drove myself half-mad once I’d learned that you’d recruited him. I guess I kind of felt replaced. I couldn’t help but wonder if you treated him the same as me, or better, or if you’d fucked him. I think that’s why I kept your name on the three-eighteen, even though I was pissed. I told myself I didn’t want to see you again, but I figured maybe… some day… And then apparently I broke out of medical. I’ve only got scattered memories of it through the heat. I think I owe Dr. Roberts an apology.”

Phil brushes a kiss to Clint’s ear. “It’s okay – she’s familiar with the biological drive a heat can create. I’m just glad you came looking.”

“I memorized the address of your apartment weeks ago,” Clint admits. “It sounds pretty stalker-ish in retrospect.” 

Phil squeezes him. “I’m so sorry, Clint. I should have made sure you’d been informed of my status, instead of just assuming.”

“I understand why you didn’t,” Clint says. “I’m still pissed about it, because you should never have thought that I’d just forget about you, but I understand better, now.”

“So, no more running away to strange alphas in bars?” Phil asks, only half joking.

Clint leans back again to meet his eyes. “Phil. As long as you will have me, I’m yours.”

“How about forever?” Phil asks, tucking him close again. “I am very good with the concept of forever.”

“Forever means you’ll have to introduce me to your new team,” Clint warns with a smile in his voice. 

“Excellent,” Phil agrees. “We’ll have to time it perfectly, though, preferably when Skye is saying something about me being old.”

“Is she the young alpha hacker you recruited?”

“You’ll like her,” Phil agrees. “The two of you will get along great. Actually,” he stops and frowns, “maybe I shouldn’t introduce you after all.”

“Too late, you promised,” Clint teases, “and don’t worry, sir. I’m yours now, after all. Forever. You promised that, too.”

“I absolutely did,” Phil says, and tucks him in tight.


End file.
